Shutting from the Sky
by consequentially
Summary: Reno loses a friend due to one horrible mistake, and reflects in the aftermath over the entirety of their relationship. T for language. Reno/OC-ish. R&R please? Chapter 3 is up!
1. aftermath

**aftermath.**

_Sometimes there are those things that you just can't help. Things that happen without anyone planning them to. Sometimes you like the result, at other times you're horrified with the results. Sometimes you wonder what could have happened, but there's no use lingering over the past._

He kicks back in his swivel chair and takes a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, watching the smoke being whipped away by the roar of the AC. Red spikes wave ever so slightly in the constant artificial wind. His feet are propped up on a messily stacked pile of paperwork. A stray sheet flutters to the industrial-carpeted floor, landing face-up. Black lettering akin to a child's scribbling covers half of it, ending in scribble larger than the rest that almost looks like a signature.

His eyes wander aimlessly. The bulletin board on the wall to his right is covered with maps, printouts, and the odd mug shot of a perp, long gone by now. A withered plant bends over itself despondently in a corner next to the door. He never waters it. There's a small cherry-wood cabinet in the other corner, one door hanging open to expose the target tacked on it. Two darts pierce the center, and the rest are littered around the base of the wood. The room is windowless; stifling, almost.

His desk is no better, a scratched old thing with drawers that barely locked. The laptop permanently stationed on top of it was the only modern thing in the room, humming quietly while a screensaver showing the date scrolls slowly across the screen. His eyes focus on it, and angrily, he slams the lid down. The desk trembles.

He reaches for a coffee mug long cold, when the door opens without a knock.

"Caffeine and nicotine don't go, you know," the bald man says calmly, ignoring the EMR pointed suddenly at his head.

The redhead drops the weapon after checking the identity of the intruder. "The fuck I care," he mutters, taking a large gulp of the cold liquid just to prove his point. He indicates the chair across from his desk, the one rarely ever used, there only out of politeness for the occasional boss visit. "'Sup?"

"You."

He flicks ash into the tray always by his side. "What about me, yo?" he asks, eyeing his partner with more curiosity than he would've liked to admit.

"Reno. You've been off your game today." His simple statement in customary deep baritone is different today, punctuated with slight undertone of worry.

He refuses to think about the reason. "Just need my booze, yo." He stretches like a cat would, long limbs sprawled all over his chair in a way only he could manage.

"Is that it?" He can feel the other man's gaze, boring through impenetrable sunglasses into his head.

"Wow, you're talkative today," he says lightly, stubbing out the cigarette and blowing the last of the smoke into his face.

His partner remains unfazed, saying nothing.

"Really." He takes his feet off and puts his elbows in their place, staring intently at the other through bright blue-green eyes. "A couple of drinks later, I'll be back to the me you know and love, yo." He winks, pushing his own unease deeper inside.

A few seconds later and his partner exhales, gets up, and throws him one last look.

"I'll see you tomorrow." And the door shuts with the customary slam.

Reno waits a beat, and then lets his head drop into his hands. He tries not to think about this day. This day, of all days.

His PHS beeps, and without thinking, he picks it up and throws it at the door in uncharacteristic anger. Hitting the door at full force, the device shatters neatly into its separate components, each plastic bit falling to the floor with a muffled thump.

"Not... today..." he says brokenly. He can't deal with more today. He just wants to get out of here, from this cell-like office, and get out under the night sky, with maybe a few smokes and definitely a bottle of the hard stuff, if only to make him forget a while. He can't deal with being shut up any longer, in this place now accursed to him. Not today.

So he decides to get up, take his jacket off the hanger, and go out the door.

Yeah. He just really needs his booze.


	2. recollection

(this chapter travels back in the past to when everything first began, so hopefully that makes it less confusing.)

**recollection.**

He runs, sprinting down the dirt-covered asphalt. Relying on instinct alone, he leaps catlike over the occasional overturned trashcan and avoids puddles of oil that promise a broken ankle if slipped upon. Night's onset is close, but the street lamps down here are almost all broken. The dying sun casts its last rays over the upper city, setting the glass-paned windows alight with fire. But down here, night holds its sway twenty-four seven. He weaves expertly from darkness to darkness, taking the advantage that it offers. A brief instant in which he is lit reveals the file he has tucked under his arm. The soles of his combat boots barely touch the filth of this place, the slums of Midgar.

Home, in a sense.

A sudden, loud beeping shatters the deathly silence, abruptly cut off.

"Shit."

Increasing his pace, he reaches for the EMR by his side. His thumb lingers lovingly by the button as bright aquamarine eyes scan the area ahead and briefly glance back.

He's not disappointed.

A shot whizzes dangerously close to his ear as his conditioned response lets his body fall to the opposite side, scarlet ponytail whipping through the air just a second after. He sneaks a peek over his shoulder. Slowing down, he smashes the button on the EMR's body. An electric crackling heats up the night air, and with that, he's prepared to take on anyone. A devilish grin spreads over his darkened features.

"Come and get it," he says softly, trailing off into the barest of laughs.

That's when the entire street he's in floods with light and several professional-looking personnel suddenly rise from the shadows, made even more menacing by the blinding brightness. Several red dots wander onto his chest.

He's absolutely baffled. There wasn't even a _trace_ of himself left inside the building he had just infiltrated. The cameras had all been successfully deceived, the security put to sleep with the very tranquilizers they were supposed to use on him. Sure, one or two of the higher-ups could've had their elite spying on the place, but he could put up with their 'best'. No one's better than he is. No one.

But the sheer number of goons here could possibly, just _possibly_ take him out.

"Hand over the file," a helmeted individual says, stepping from the ranks of guns. "And you just might live."

He responds smoothly once out of his furious thought process- with a customary smirk. "Hell no, douche bags." Twirling the EMR between long fingers, he adds "Drop all your weapons and I'll kill you... quickly."

The ringleader doesn't take the bait. "Last chance, Turk. Drop the file." A sneer turns up the corner of his mouth, the only part of his face visible.

He sighs melodramatically, letting the file slip from his fingers. All eyes follow the black folder, and just before it lands on the damp asphalt, the lights go off.

Before he can say "what the hell?" a hand grabs his arm roughly and drags him forcefully to what must be the smallest, smelliest, and most filthy of allies leading off the main square he was just in. The unknown person shoves him behind a large dumpster, and crouches down next to him.

He's bewildered, and starts to speak, but the unknown puts a hand over his mouth. He inhales sharply at the unwelcome contact of skin and leather, and catches a whiff of perfume. A woman, he decides.

Regardless, he opens his mouth once more.

"Do us both a favor and shut up," her voice hisses. Her hand is gone, but now he feels the cold steel of a barrel under his jaw. His muscles tense. A slip here could fuck up the entire mission, more than it was already. He couldn't die with a bad name.

"Watch where you're pointing that, yo," he says indignantly. "You know that end with the hole? Yeah- those are da-"

"I _said_, _shut the hell up_!" That end with the hole is now pushing harder, and he decides to comply, but unable to resist a last remark.

"What the _fuck_, lady- you just-" He's cut off again by her hand, and this time, he can't protest because the lights go back on and they both automatically crouch just a little more into the shadows. The gun drops from his head and he visibly relaxes. Just a little bit.

Mutterings and several curses drift to his ears, and the man insulting him just some seconds ago is now shouting angrily at his underlings for letting him escape.

He smirks. He'd always appreciated a good getaway. But this time, it wasn't by his wits alone. He casts a furtive glance at his savior. In the dim light reflected from the square, he can make her out now. She seems to be just a year or two behind him in age; close-cropped- brown? maybe- hair framing her face. The eyes are still pitch-black in the faint light, wide and alert for any sign of danger headed their way. The face is delicate, a pointed chin and well-defined nose.

_Interesting_ is all he has time to think before the shouting escalates and the distant roaring of "Yessir!" 's are heard and the thundering of army-issue boots come their way. He can hear the faint echoes of other groups taking other routes.

They wait in silence for couple of heartbeats. He chances a peek. The place is empty. Exhaling, he stands up, checking himself over. He makes a big show of dusting off all bits of dirt from his pant legs and jacket, ignoring the stare he's getting from the person who saved him.

"So." Breaking the awkward silence only made it more so. "Um."

"What?"

He's uncomfortable, pride hurt a little. He was supposed to be able to handle this on his own. Remembering how he walked out of the office with arrogant reassurances that it'd be done in no time flat, he cringes. But he's not so childish as to go back sulking.

He mumbles. "Thanks." The simple word costs more effort than it should.

She eyes him speculatively. "Didn't want your blood on my turf."

"Hell, my presence has a positively elevating effect on this place," he says with a grin.

The woman ignores him, continuing. "I can't believe you lost the file. That was of vital importance." The sentence is tinged with disbelief and a hint of contempt. The latter rubs him the wrong way.

"You don't seriously think I'm that stupid, yo?" he asks incredulously. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulls out the black folder. "All that language back there wasn't just because they missed their chance to kill me."

She makes a not-so-subtle attempt to snatch it from him. He merely lifts his arm higher, as if teasing a child with candy held out of reach. She's of average height, but just short enough to miss the papers no matter how hard she tries to get it. Even attempts to take him down don't work; he avoids them all by just a centimeter.

"Ah-ah," he says, amused. "This is important to me too."

And suddenly, that gun his chin had been getting to know so well is pointing at him again.

"Did you forget something?" she asks sweetly, finger on the trigger.

"Dangerous, aren'tcha?" He's still calm, amused.

"I won't shed any tears over your body."

"Whoa, there. Then why save me in the first place?"

"You had the file." Her tone is matter-of-fact and she speaks slowly, as if talking to a moron. He doesn't let it get to him this time, choosing merely to smirk. "It was necessary."

"And so is this?"

"Yes."

"Guess I have no choice then." He lowers his arm and offers it. She looks at him suspiciously, but in the end takes it with not a little bit of hesitation.

His PHS rings again, and this time, he picks it up, ignoring the gun still trained on him.

"Reno, yo. What's happenin'?"

"What's _happening_ is that you're going to get back here this very moment." The voice of his boss and coworker filters through the small speaker. "The President is in urgent need of the file- that I assume you have in your possession?" He sounds a little pissed.

"Yeah, yeah, bossman- I got it." The female smiles at his blatant lie.

"Good. I expect you back in ten minutes." A click.

"Catch ya later." The redhead is off before she can say another word, disappearing around the corner and already vanished into the night once she gets out of the alley.

He's running again, taking to the darkest of streets this time, a network of paths that somehow lead back to the Upper Plate. It's really, truly night now, he notices. Good. He makes a left, almost out of the slums, and he wonders when she'll realize-

A scream of frustration echoes from a place far behind him. He grins, patting the pocket that contains quite a few sheets of paper.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, increasing his pace just the tiniest bit. "Turk's job."


	3. repossession

**repossession.**

Reno saunters in the main lobby of the Shinra building, EMR tapping on his shoulder. He whistles cheerfully- impervious to the annoyed glances the room's occupants throw at him. Following him are his own tracks in mud, ruining the gleaming white tiles. A janitor hurriedly goes over, opens his mouth, sees the weapon the Turk still has out, and shuts it. He gestures for cleaning equipment, and soon, yellow pieces of plastic bearing the words CAUTION / WET FLOOR follow in the redhead's footsteps.

Seemingly ignorant of all the fuss, he makes his way to the elevator, stepping inside the small space with at least a dozen of others.

"'Scuse." And suddenly, everyone's off the elevator, eyeing the dangerous-looking piece of metal he carries. He gives the last person to go out what he thinks is a friendly smile. The man cowers and leaves, quickly.

He shakes his head. Weird guy. Tapping the button for the top floor, he resumes whistling, accompanying the elevator music until the box _ding_s not thirty seconds later. Shinra technology. Best in the world.

Strolling down the white-carpeted corridors, he makes his way to the President's door. He bypasses the secretary, not even meriting a glance- she knows better than to question the Turks' doings.

The redhead knocks on the door, waiting about half a second before twisting the knob and letting himself in the wonder world of pristine white that is Rufus Shinra's office.

"Finally," his boss says coldly. Reno bites his lip to keep from retorting back. Here was Hell incarnate, in a white suit. Rufus never cared how the mission was accomplished- it's all about the results with him. And the results were always to his liking. Reno never failed. But he never got any word of praise either- not that he needed it. But he was used to that. It was the snide, snarky, cynical comments that got to him.

He says nothing, just keeping those bright aquamarine eyes fixed on that black file he tosses over, sliding neatly onto the desk covered in paperwork. Because all he really wants to do is get out of there as soon as possible- but knowing Shinra, he might be there for a while. He jams his hands into his pockets, waiting.

"Go," Rufus dismisses him, turning back around in his off-white, leather executive chair.

He does so gladly, still not that comfortable around his boss even after so many years in this line of work. When the door shuts behind him, he exhales, and the tension goes out of his limbs. Normally he doesn't deal with Rufus, but it was so late that it was actually early when he got back and Tseng wasn't there.

Reno walks down the corridor he took to get there, and upon getting out, he finds Rude. The bald man falls into step with him, now two pairs of shoes squeaking down the polished floor. The redhead knows that Rude won't say anything until he does so without turning around, he speaks.

"Where to tonight, buddy?" He stretches his right arm behind his head, gripping the elbow and yawning.

His buddy replies with customary conciseness. "Raquel's?"

"Why not, yo." Raquel's sounded nice. They hadn't been there for a while.

~*~

When they get there, Rude making sure to lock the company vehicle, Reno immediately heads toward the counter, enjoying the dark, ambient atmosphere and the low, muted chatter of the bar's regular occupants.

Under hanging lights heavily shaded, he finds the bartender- Raquel, a tall, long-limbed and graceful woman older than him by five years- he's known her for more than that many years. Her chin-length, straight black locks swing as she turns around and sees the Turk pair, breaking out into a smile.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite Turks," she calls, hand automatically straying to the shelves as the two take adjoining seats. "What can I getcha?"

"The usual," Rude calls, and she immediately snags two long-necked bottles, turning her back on them to serve up their drinks.

Reno takes a seat on a stool, perching like a child would. He flips the bangs out of his eyes and peers around in interest. He senses a different tone, a different note in the harmony that makes up the music of the Turks' favorite bar tonight. After a few seconds worth of looking around, his eye catches a diminutive figure, a hat pulled down over her eyes.

She looks up a moment, and he hastily turns his eyes away, feeling her gaze burn the back of his head. Raquel plunks a glass down in front of him, and he gratefully takes a sip of the amber liquid to calm himself. Before she gets to Rude, he pulls at her sleeve slightly.

"Who's she?" he asks, mumbling, tilting his chin toward the slight figure nursing a colorful drink on the other side.

A slight crease forms in the middle of the bartender's thin black brows. "Hm," she muses. "Don't really recall her. She's been in here a couple of times, but only lately." Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she's in with some anti-Shinra groups, though. Might want to be careful."

Reno nods. Raquel turns on her heel and busies herself with the register.

"What, you know her?" Rude asks, surprisingly soft-voiced.

"Um, we kinda... _met_... while.... while I was out doing that last thing for Rufus."

"_How_?"

He lies. Blatantly. "Innocent bystander."

Rude looks unconvinced.

Reno sighs, and tells him the truth. Rude listens to the story, grimacing and chuckling alternately upon hearing the whole thing, casting subtle glances at the girl behind his sunglasses at intervals.

"So she's not our side," he states simply when his partner is finished talking.

"Nope," Reno responds, precariously balancing the stool on its two back legs while sitting on it.

"...."

"What?"

"Well, you're doing a good job of hiding your identity." The bald man looks pointedly at his partner. The stool crashes back down on all four legs with a _thud_.

"Shit," the redhead murmurs, realizing that he was being far too conspicuous.

"If your hair wasn't so red..." Rude comments.

"Shut up," he retorts, touchy. "At least I have hair."

Rude's frown deepens. He does not like hair jokes. Reno immediately puts on a contrite face.

"Sorry." He attempts a grin, tries to pass it off as light-hearted.

The black man's expression is unreadable behind those trademark sunglasses, but Reno knows that his partner is even more stony-faced from his jibe. The grin slips from his face and splats on the floor. Figuratively.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reno catches her looking at him. Staring. Well, more like glaring. He feels a bead of sweat slide down the side of his neck. Sweat? Ridiculous. He doesn't sweat under people's glares. Except maybe Rufus. And maybe Tseng sometimes. Or when he's tried to drown Elena's cat again. Or-

"Hey, redhead."

He tilts his head down, now really wishing his hair wasn't as bright as it was. Maybe he'd go home and dye it black tonight. His eyes furtively cast around for any other redheads he could possibly use to deflect attention.

"Yeah, you. Ponytail."

There were no other people with red hair, not even auburn, in the room, and much less another with a ponytail like his. He sighs through his nose, and meets her gaze square on.

It scorches him to the core, burns him up to a figurative crisp; such is the hatred in her stare. He winces visibly. The corner of her mouth twitches wryly. And then, with a flick of her wrist, she invites him over. The Turk glances at his partner and decides, screw it, I'll go, after witnessing the raised eyebrows and rare look of amusement behind the shades.

Reno slips off the high stool and attempts to whistle indifferently as he takes casual steps to her seat. He notices that her short but slender legs are up to the thigh in well-worn boots that faintly brings to mind that annoying chick Yuffie, and that she has on the same getup from that night.

"Sit." She gestures at the seat next to her and waves the barista over to refill her glass. He notices that unlike the other women he's known, she prefers the hard stuff- like him, and smiles vaguely. She notices the upturn of his lips and scowls slightly back.

He apologizes. "Look, I'm sorry, yo. All part of the job, you know."

She swishes the vodka in her glass around a little before answering. "Whatever. I managed to give the big fish some shit about being outnumbered and generally pulled off some damsel in distress crap but I also gave them your background files so it's all well and good."

The girl smiles sweetly at him and manages the barest bat of eyelashes.

"How'd you get that?!" he asks, louder than he meant, and is immediately chastised by not-so-friendly glances by the bars regulars. He glares back and slides his hand to the EMR at his belt. Half of the patrons turn back around and he continues in a quieter tone. "No, really."

She just grins at him and takes a sip. "Call that even, Mr. Reno-"

He leans forward and puts his hand over her mouth before she can finish, throwing her a warning glance. "I've spent far too much time trying to erase a bad past for you to bring it up in my name." He lets it sink in a little, and continues. "If you know what's good for you, Ms. ...?" He cocks an eyebrow and she mumbles a name through his hand. He lets it up and she repeats it.

"Hali."

"Then, Ms. Hali, you wouldn't be so quick to bring up disgusting things like that." He leans back again.

Hali looks disgruntled for a moment. "In any case, you'd better be watching your step." A feral gleam sparkles in her eye and he finds himself liking her attitude.

"Darlin', catch me if you _can_. If I remember correctly, I got away from you pretty easily- and I can't imagine these goons being better than you or me, really."

She shrugs. "It has nothing to do with me anymore."

"Wait, so no hard feelings?"

"None whatsoever." She downs the rest of her drink. He's quiet, having exhausted his store of conversation topics for the day.

The silence continues, uncomfortable and awkward while the low murmur of shady business connected with this part of town swells up.

"Well, now that we're not strangers any more, feel free to call me up any time for drinks or anything else," he concludes brightly, reaching into his pocket for the business cards he insisted Tseng make him for occasions just like these (Tseng had called it a flagrant waste of office resources). He puts it neatly down on the counter beside her drink and leaves her looking slightly nonplussed.

He saunters back to Rude's area of the bar and tugs conspicuously at his jacket sleeves to smooth out the wrinkles. "Are we done?"

"We're done," the older man asserts in his quiet, deep voice.

On the way out, pushing past the door and into the quiet, chilly night, while Reno's zipping up his jacket against the night breeze, Rude asks him, "So what was that all about?"

"Eh?" The redhead turns. "Oh, well, I got her name."

Rude looks slightly exasperated. "And number?"

"Nope, but I gave her mine," Reno tells him brightly.

Rude just looks at him behind his sunglasses (Reno could never figure out why his partner insisted on wearing them 24/7) and walks off.

"Hey, wait up!"


End file.
